


Darktamer

by pontoni



Category: Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Empath, Gen, Pre-Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 1979-08-01
Updated: 1979-08-01
Packaged: 2019-03-13 09:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13567998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pontoni/pseuds/pontoni
Summary: A runaway becomes a pawn in a deadly assassination plot.Written in 1978, when none of the characters were related, and Darth Vader was a heartless, mysterious, and utterly fabulous villain.(Will continue scanning and uploading this if there's interest.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Star Wars is copyright George Lucas and Vacuum or Paramount and probably lots of other people too. No infringement or disrespect is intended by this non-profit work of fan fiction. This is a work of noncommercial amateur fan fiction; it is not published for profit or material gain. The author and the posters have no intent to infringe any intellectual property rights held by the owners of existing copyrights in Star Wars or its derivative works. The author retains copyright to the original aspects of this work.
> 
> This work originally appeared in the fanzine _Pegasus IV_. I will post chapters as I scan and OCR them.

 

Adria had been trying to decide all day whose pattern she would morph into when she ran away. It had to be someone who she'd absorbed enough of for her to hold the pattern until she was off-world, but there had to be a minimum of persona, so that she's be in control. Well, she could decide that later, on the way to Farcity.

After checking to make sure that her father and Katya (she could not stand to think of that woman as 'her new stepmother') hadn't returned yet, Adria went down to the cellar. Pressing her palm to the anamorphic lock, she went into the storeroom and took enough dry rations to last her on the four-night hike to Farcity. As she was turning to leave the aging-racks of last season's crop of Thextelys taught her eye. The dusty bottles gleamed in the dim light like giant opals. It might be a good idea to take one of those too, she decided. The wine's sale would bring her more than enough to buy passage off Persephassa, leaving her something to live on until she found a job. Sliding a bottle out from the bottom row, she relocked the storeroom and went upstairs to her room.

Her traveling sack looked absurdly empty with only the food and the Thextelys in it, and she looked at the shelf above her bed and debated whether or not to take something else along. There was a 'gram of her Mother holding her that had been taken when Adria was a year old; the gossamer skin of a web beast she had killed when she was fifteen; a crystal statue that Father had given her for her graduation last season, and a few media tapes. _No, leave everything. Maybe Father will want to get a new **daughter** to go with his new **wife**._

There were sounds outside. That would be Father, coming back to say goodbye to her before going off on a week-long hike with Katya. _He always used to take **me** before_ , she thought, and peered out the window. Katya clung to her Father as he climbed out of the transport.

"Look at the way he cozies with her," she whispered as he extricated himself from Katya and ran up to the house. "He's forgotten Mother. If I would have been old enough to remember her I'd never have forgotten her."

"Adria?" Father called from the front door. She could hear him taking guns down from the rack over the fireplace. "We're leaving now."

"Have a good time." She was not going to go out to him. There was no answer and she hoped that he was coming to her room; but no, there was the whine of the transport. He was tossing the last of the supplies into the back and Adria watched his head - so close to Katya's in the front seat - until dust and distance blurred it from view. Turning away from the window, her eyes fell on her Mother's 'gram. The velvety blue eyes seemed to reach out to her, soothing. _Of course. that's who I'll use. Mother. No one in Farcity'll recognize the pattern of someone who's been dead for sixteen years._ Adria sat down in front of her mirror.

Calling up the images she had absorbed from Father's memories, she gathered them into a pattern. The only persona that came through was a gentle reserve that she could easily override. Turning her concentration inward, she willed herself to morph. Immediately, her long silver hair acquired golden highlights that obediently deepened into light brown. Clouding momentarily, her pale gray eyes began to darken into blue as her facial features started to shift. Usually long and upswept, Adria's nose flattened, shortened; her lips became thinner as her mouth widened; and her cheekbones became shallower, making her face narrower. By the time the morph was done she was in a Motherpattern that looked almost identical to the 'gram on her shelf.

Unifying back to her natural appearance, Adria picked up her traveling sack and walked out of the room, down the stairs and out of the house. As she left she slammed the front door behind her.

.

Nan and Redmik YeScotim were two of a small, select group of traders who regularly hyperspaced inside The Shell, a galactic gas cloud that enclosed Persephassa and her sister systems. The Shell altered the time-space continuum within its borders a fractional degree and because of this distortion instrument readings of distance and velocity were often unreliable, and astronavigation risky. Yet the danger was well worth it, because Persephassa not only yielded fine gemstones but also Thextelys, the "wine of forgetfulness." An iridescent, slightly milky liquor, Thextelys soothed emotional wounds and eased the jagged edge of painful memories.

Adria's father had done business in gems with the YeScotims several times, and she knew them to be honorable. Nan YeScotim, captain of _The Seedling_ , was a tall, full-bodied woman with a burry voice and lively eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled. Her husband and co-pilot Redmik was even taller than Nan, with a full redgold beard and a chest like a tree trunk. She found them in their docking bay: they took her on with no hesitation when she showed them the bottle that she had stolen from her father's cellar, treating her like a princess. Persephassa exported only a very limited quantity of Thextelys to off-worlders each season and Nan and Redmik were overjoyed to be one of the lucky few.

After the hyperspace jump Adria sat by the starboard port watching the streaked stars of hyperspace. Now that she was actually in the process of leaving she felt ambivalent: she had known nothing but Persephassa all her life, the Greater Galaxy was huge, unknown. She tried not to think about how Father would react when he came home and found her gone ...

Nan came and sat next to her. "Beautiful, tisn't it?"

"Yes." _They don't even recognize me. So far so good._ "How much can you give me for the wine?"

"Do ye think fifteen thousand is a fair price?" Nan asked guardedly. "Ten for yer passage and five for yerself?"

Adria knew that the Thextelys would sell on the black market for roughly fifty thousand, but she didn't mind. She had always liked Nan and Redmik, they deserved the profit, and besides, five thousand seemed more than enough. "That'll be fine."

"So much for business." Nan was watching her closely. "I'm not prying, mind, but I canna help thinking that something's wrong here. Are ye in trouble?"

Adria hadn't thought she'd need a cover story: she said the first thing that came into her head. "My husband's abandoned me for another woman."

"Oh, aye. I ken that must be hard on ye." Nan clucked sympathetically. "How long were ye together?"

"Fifteen years." _Well, that's the truth. It WAS just Father and me for that long until Katya came along._

"That's a long time, no doubt. Ach weel." Patting Adria's hand affectionately, Nan said, "There's plenty of others out there. You'll meet a mon soon enough who'll see what a fine woman ye are and not be so willin' to toss ye out like an auld sock."

Redmik stuck his head into the compartment. "We're inside Aceldama's antigrav range. Will that planet be all right for you or would you like to go somewhere else? We've scheduled stops on Bestine, Venallia, and Llewion."

"Aceldama," Adria replied, feeling a sudden nervous excitement, "Sounds just fine to me."

.

Her spirits continued to lift as she walked down the gangway of the _Seedling_. Making her way out of the maze of docking bays, she fell in with a river of people streaming along a wide street.

She had never been on an extra-Shell world before and it seemed that the slower time-space framework made colors vivid, sunlight warmer, sounds richer and more melodious. Unifying slowly out of Motherpattern as she walked, Adria gaped at the towering buildings, the kaleidoscopic shop windows, the humans and not-quite humans talking and gesturing all around her. Adria was used to Persephassa's uncomplicated quiet; vineyard-caves, gem mines, craggy plateaus, windswept meadows.

After a while she came to a wide grassy park, inviting after planes of plasteel. Near the center, a large group of people were gathered around an immense gilded statue of Emperor Palpatine. Someone stood on the base of the monument, apparently making a speech. Adria walked to the edge of the crowd but was too far away to make out more than a few words: unity, empire, rebellion, Aceldama, alliance. Moving closer, she saw that there was a banner draped across the base of the statue which proclaimed in bold letters UNITY IS POWER.

The speech was in a dialect of Universal Galactic. Adria, like most of the others in the crowd, was so engrossed by the speaker's passionate diatribe against "apathy and complacency" that she did not hear the Imperial hovercraft approaching. Until it was too late to run.

A yellow-gray gas misted the group around the statue, and those enveloped by it stopped still in their tracks as though rooted to the soil. Adria's eyes began to water and she felt faint. The last thought she had before she passed out was that Father didn't know where she was.

.

 _Thirsty. Head hurts._ Voices nearby - murmur, mutter, rustle, scrape. Adria drifted in and out of consciousness. She became aware slowly that she was sitting on something hard; that there was a solid surface at her back; that her knees were drawn up, pressing against her forehead. Her eyes were gummy-shut and when she had rubbed them open she found out that she was in a dark large room filled with people sitting or lying on the floor. She was huddled in a corner. There was a clear area around her as though she had a disease. Her skin fluoresced, faintly bluesilvergrey in the dim.

A white silhouette suspended in the air a few meters in front of her turned and moved closer; it was a woman with long dark hair and deep circles under her eyes. Pressing a warm hand to Adria's forehead, the woman asked, "Awake finally?"

Adria nodded.

"I'm Ellise. We were worried about you for a while. What's your name?"

"Adria Damiana." Her throat was dry: the words came out in a croak.

"Adria. Well, you see, Valeen gas - that's what they used on us - is supposed to make a person docile and obedient, not put them in a coma. Which is how it seems to have affected you."

Swallowing painfully, Adria asked, "Can I have something to drink?"

Ellise shook her head. "They haven't given us anything today, either."

"Either?" Adria noticed that the room was very quiet, as though the other people were listening to their conversation.

"We've been in her two days, I think. Two or three."

An indistinct grayish form rose somewhere in the middle of the room. "It's been a lot longer than that, 'Lise." The speaker sounded like an old man, and the hysteria in his voice was undisguised. "They're not gonna let us go. They're gonna kill us, starve us to death."

Ellise stood and answered firmly. "There were plenty of witnesses to our arrest, John. By now half the systems in this quadrant will know that we're here, and when they find out how we're being treated there'll be a protest. Think of what this outrage, this act of opposition will do for the cause - "

"Look, 'Lise," John, the old man broke in. "I've given as much to the cause as anyone here. The Imperials killed my wife and children, burned my home, closed down my business. I believe in the Rebellion, but I'm tired. _Dying_ is more than I want to give."

Adria closed her eyes and put her head on her knees, shutting out the clawing tight tension in her stomach. Her thirst was worse; she felt queasy, light-headed. _I could have been home tonight,_ she thought, determined not to cry, _sitting in front of the fireplace with Father._ The picture of him was too clear in her mind's eye: Light from the flames shading his features into a chiaroscuro of yellow and black . . . Adria grimaced. _Katya will be with him now, laughing and flirting and whispering in his ear. I'll bet she's happy that I'm gone. She has him all to herself now._ She imagined that she could hear the music that they were listening to - no, wait, the music was here ! She raised her head wonderingly.

Ellise was sitting cross-legged, running her long fingers lovingly over the keyboard of a tiny palm-sized collimbè on the floor in front of her. The rippling notes wove a melody that embroidered golden strands through the darkness of the cell. Someone at the far end of the room hollered, "Play the Ballad of the Five Hundred!" and Ellise nodded, paused for a moment, and then accompanied herself as she sang the song about the Fellowship of the Jedi Knights, who had worked to suppress the forces of Darkness and Chaos in the galaxy. They were dedicated to the Light and the incalculable order of the Maker. Ellise described how one of their number had fallen under the spell of darkness and conspired against them. There were other requests. More and more of the prisoners joined in. Ellise held Adria's hand as she sang; a man on her left took her other one. All over the cell, the chain of handclasps generated a tangible solidarity.

After a while, Adria became aware of an uncomfortable chillness. Constricting the blood flow near the surface of her skin didn't do any good. She began to shiver. A faint worry soaked through her bones. What was happening? An aftereffect of the gas? An adjustment to the slower time-space framework? She didn't actually feel ill; it was more an unidentified _uneasiness,_ an anticipation of something bad.

An instant later overhead lights blazed on, blinding. Adria squinted; a portion of the wall opposite where she and Ellise were sitting opened and several blurry dark forms moved in. She shaded her eyes. Panic rose up from her chest and clutched at her throat. It was the oddest thing - she had felt this same way whenever she was trying to hide from her Father after having done something terribly wrong> His punishments, when justified, were severe.

The forms moved closer. Abruptly her vision clouded until she couldn't see. Something, _someone_ , pushed into her mind - icy, relentless. She was unable o block it. The presence twisted though her, sifting through her images dispassionately. A distorted voice rumbled far above her head. "This is the source of the disturbance in the Force that I sense. Take her to a private cell. I will interrogate her later."

The intruding other withdrew. Adria's mind felt almost clammy, dirty with an oppressive after-presence. Her vision started to clear: she looked up.

Towering over her was the most enormous 'droid that she had ever seen in her life, taller than the uniformed men that stood around it by over a head's-breadth. Constructed of a dull black metal with powerful-looking leather covered arms, it wore a heavy floor length black cloak. Various switches were set into the broad chestplate and a modulated hissing came from the jutting, stylized mouth of the black-helmeted head.

"Certainly, Lord Vader."

_Vader ... hadn't she heard that name before? Something political or military, something not positive._

"Stand up," one of the soldiers barked.

 _Me? They can't mean me. I'm no one, I haven't done anything wrong!_ She couldn't move.

One of the men gestured curtly to a soldier; he grabbed Adria's arm and jerked her to her feet. Ellise had kept hold of her hand: her fingers clung to Adria's for a minute, then slid away as she slumped over sideways. Adria saw that Ellise's eyes were rolled up into her head: only the whites showed, bulging.

That was too much. Adria turned herself inward and blocked out everything.

 .

An unknown length of time passed before she opened her perceptions again. She was laying flat on her back, on a narrow ledge in a tiny gray walled cell so small that she could have stood in the middle and touched all four walls without moving. She took deep, shallow breaths and concentrated on calming herself; she fixed on what appeared to be a monitorlens high in one corner and tried to clear her mind.

Darth Vader. Darth Vader. The name rolled though her mind. He, his presence, his mind had entered hers, sifted through her thoughts.

He would have picked up information on morphing, Persephassa - everything she was supposed to keep secret outside the shell. But would he have understood what he had seen? For Adria, seeping into a mind only picked up mental images: _understanding_  of what was seen really only occurred when the images were consolidated into a pattern or permanently absorbed into one's self. During these processes she would experience the entire perception, including trains of thought and emotion, but afterwards the only way to access the thoughts and memories fully was to morph. Her inability to close herself off from Vader had almost been like being in a strong pattern, the kind when the stored persona completely takes over.

But how had he forced her into that, then? Was his own personality so strong? And if so, what would keep it from overpowering her own? What if she acquired his pattern?

No, no personality could be so strong.

Adria wished that she had been allowed to absorb more of her Father. Fatherpattern would how to deal with this situation. She tried to think of another pattern that might help, but the personas of her friends weren't equipped to handle this either. _I'll just have to face it as myself. Besides, if that really is a camera up there, I can't let them see me morph._

From birth until maturity, every child was constantly drilled with the necessity of concealing morphing from offworlders. (Adults didn't have to worry - they were solidified although they could still seep and absorb.) Every once in a while horrible stories would filter back to the Shell about someone who had revealed their abilities and either been killed, displayed as a freak, or tricked into "volunteering" for scientific research. They'd stressed that they were mutations, of course, because it was important to protect the homeworld at any cost. Any cost.

Adria lifted one of her legs, bent it; flexed her arms. she felt wooden. Sliding upright she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. _Just for a minute. I'm so tired._

She came awake suddenly, her heart pounding. What had - ?

A familiar muffled coldness was spreading over her, rapidly growing stronger. Minutes later the wall opposite her slid open and Vader's form filled the opening, stepped into the cell. Even though he stood with his back against the door there was barely half a meter between the edge of her sleeping ledge and his body. The room seemed to contract and the light to dim. _Stop being foolish,_  she told herself desperately. At home she had been smarter and as strong as most of the boys she knew but Vader was different, all steel and distant intellect and she felt entirely defenseless against him.

"Your mind," he said suddenly, "is unusually receptive to the thoughts of others. Why is this so?" His voice was hollow, oddly reverberant.

 _Maybe he hasn't figured out about morphic or Persephassa ... please, now, please Maker let him believe the story. Calm, calm,_ she cautioned herself. _Tell it well._

"Ever since I was a child, I've been able to see the images in another person's mind. Sometimes I can live their experience through their memories, share their thoughts," she said hesitantly.

"There is more to your telepathic ability than establishing an empathic connection," he stated.

 _How much does he know?_ she wondered. _Wait a minute - what's preventing me from doing a quick seep and finding out?_

Staring at a point of light that reflected off the side of his helmet, she started to project herself across the gap. The star of light rotated, grew, became blinding, searing, seemed to roar at her, surround her, scorch her. She put her hands over her face with a cry as the contact broke, furious. Stupid, stupid - she hadn't prepared herself correctly and now he would be on his guard.

"Your curiosity has been satisfied?" There was a hint of cold amusement in his tone. "Is that the extent of your abilities? If so, you are of no use to me."

Adria shivered. Never, in all her life had she come across a mind so perfectly shielded. Improbably, as she stared at him she was reminded of a time when she had gone exploring an old network of vineyard caves and gem mines on the edge of the Kerea'a Plateau. The dark twisting grottoes, sudden waterfall shafts, and wall-hugging paths above black chasms had not frightened her. Then she had found a small hole above a pool and crawled in to investigate. The passage had become narrower and narrower until she had had to crawl on her belly, dragging her pack behind her. She finally came to a dead end, sealed by a cave in, but when she had tried to back out her pack became wedged between the rockwall and her legs and she couldn't move. Fighting panic, aware that she was totally alone, she kept thinking that something might have followed her down the passageway, and might even now be sitting behind her, a few centimeters from her twisting legs. For a minute she had gone wild, screamed, convinced that the entire Kerea'a Plateau would come crushing down on her ...

Vader made her feel like that - as though any moment he would step forward, hold her against the ledge, press the life from her. Irrationally she had the idea that is she talked, she could keep him away, hold him back with her words. Her words spilled out in an urgent torrent.

"I can do more than see images. I can absorb persona of anyone, from anyone - perceptions and associations and characterizations. I can add what I've absorbed to my own persona, but if I take their strongest traits and memories I can hold it apart, gathered together in my mind as a separate consciousness. When I use their persona instead of my own then I'll have the same reactions as they would, act, think like them, remember the same events. Together with their appearance it's a pattern for _becoming_ them."

"With their appearance? What do you mean?"

Adria shrugged. "I can change myself to look like anyone I've absorbed."

"Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, of course." His astonishment came through the hiss of his breathing.

Nauseous, Adria realized that she might have made a horrible mistake.

After a lengthy silence he said, "Is the pattern aware that it's a duplicate?"

"I don't think so."

"Is taking this pattern from the individual superior to taking it from the source?"

"Not really, unless I wanted a really exact copy, but I only take the best or most interesting parts so it doesn't really matter if the memory is close to reality or not." Clasping her hands in her lap she dug her nails into her palms. _Please please please let me go._

"I will present you with images," Vader said suddenly. "You will transform yourself."

Immediately Adria's vision blacked out and she was inundated with a cacophony of perceptions of a brown-haired woman. Absorbing as fast as she could, Adria stopped when the number and intensity of the images became too much, and tried to close her mind. Vader slowed the flow.

"Do not resist me," he warned. "I can force your cooperation but I do not wish to - _damage_ you."

She was already feeling damaged: her arms and legs were numb, her chest felt constricted as if by metal bands; when she tried to draw a breath her lungs burned. She waved her hands, gasped. "Wait! You have to stop! I can't do it your way!" Every word was a struggle for air. "I have to go slowly, search out the images myself, absorb at my own speed."

Her vision cleared. Vader was studying her. "You possess primitive psychokinetic ability," he said finally. "Do not think to use it against me. My mind is far faster and stronger than yours." Bowing his head slightly, he said, "You may begin."

Adria shrank from what she had to ask him, "I - it helps me - I've never done it without - _touching_." She half-swallowed the last word.

"This is necessary?" Vader sounded almost wary.

"Yes."

"I see." There was a long gravid pause. "Proceed."

Shakily she slid her legs over the edge and stood as far away as she could, her back pressed against the ledge. Preparing herself, she focused on details. The color and shape of each button and switch on the chestplate in front of her eyes. His raspy, sibilant breathing. The acrid metallic smell of his armor. The she started to spiral inward. The feel of the fabric of her overalls as she shifted her weight from one half-numb leg to the other. The way that air flowed reluctantly into her lungs, like hot sand, straining against her ribcage. The pulse that pounded in her temples.

Detaching herself from these sensations, she ached out one hand and rested her fingertips in he crook of Vader's arm. She seeped cautiously into his mind.

_CAVERNOUS. TURBULENT. BLACKNIGHT AND HELLBLACK._

(where to look? she wondered. that way? no, ice stone barriers there. move deeper. odd images ...)

_HEAVYJOWLED OLDMAN DRINKS JEWELED CUP GEMS GLITTERING OLDMAN WITH BLUEBLADE FLASHING BLACK MIRRORTABLE HE IS HERE CANNOT ALLOW HER TO BE_

There was an image of the brown-haired woman. Adria absorbed it, following the links, tracing the connections.

_FOLD OF WHITE   F A L L   FROM TENSED SHOULDERS AS A BLUE AND WHITE WORLD EX PLO DES ALDERAN SHERESISTS THEPROBETHE NEEDLE PIERCESSMOOTHFLESH SO ARROGANT THIS TRAITOR_

Adria felt a reckless power at being so deep in his thoughts and memories. Impulsively she probed deeper into his mind, into his persona, where the images became less coherent,more abstract, fragmented.

_CONTROLcontrol no pain no pain no KILL betrayed hidehidehidehide gleamingbrightmetal like spiderwebstrands of silversilk arms legs all NO ... D A R K . . . brilliantstarlightexplosion bloodhorror NOT ONE CAN'T don't don't vibrantstrong mocking goldeneyes_

Without warning she found herself through back into the suspension of non-consciousness as Vader thrust her out of his mind. She became aware of pain as body-consciousness returned. He was gripping her shoulders so hard that incandescent slivers of torment arced from fingertip to shoulderblade. Because of this she was unifying too fast, her mind recoiling from the strained transition; she was blind, suffocating and without words she cried out _why are you doing this to me stopstopstop!_

Abruptly, he pushed her away. When had she stepped closer to him? She stumbled back against the ledge. Loose strands of hair fell over her face: the color rapidly fading from deep chestnut brown back to silver. Faintly, as though from a great distance, the door opened. She heard him speak.

"This prisoner is to be transported to Imperia under maximum security and retained in the Emperor's Palace. I will give you a set of instructions for Vizier-General Pton."


	2. Chapter 2

... that first night, after the overhead light had gone off, Adria had curled into a corner of the cell and claustrophobia had crunched in on her it seemed like there was something just about to touch her, hovering just a few millimetres from her face and the gooseflesh crawled prickly and chill along her arms and legs. She sat breathing in quick little sips until she couldn't stand the silence anyimore and pounded on the walls and screamed until she was hoarse for them to let her out ...  
  
Sunlight slanted in through the huge windows of the Hall of Audience, illuminating dust-motes that floated lazily above the mosaiced floor. The latticework that supported the thousand-metre panes looped serpentine shadows across the phalanx of Imperial stormtroopers stationed to one side of the mammoth floor-to-ceiling doors at one end of the Hall.   
  
A slender man with wispy blond hair and violet eyes entered by a side door and walked noiselessly towards the white-haired figure seated on a raised dias at the end of the Hall opposite the doors. The blond man thought it absurd that Palpatine should insist on wasting an entire squadron here, guarding his hologrammic projection; but then the Emperor did dozens of absurd things and it was his duty as Vizier-General to put up with them. Bowing deeply to the hologram, the blond man said crisply, "Good morning, your Majesty."   
  
After a long interval, the unmoving projection was replaced by a live transmission directly from Palpatine's underground chambers. The Emperor was seated in a large, ornate Old Republic chair that seemed too delicate to hold his weight. Next to him, on a small gilt table bisected by the edge of the transmission, was an open bottle of Thextelys. Palpatine held a goblet in one hand, watching his Vizier-General with a faintly challenging expression.   
  
The Vizier-General winced inwardly. Today was going to be difficult, he could tell. He had seen that look before, and the sight of the wine supported his suspicions. "The Fleet has just returned from Aceldaxna and Lord Vader will be with us momentarily." He had laid just the slightest stress on the `us'; the Dark Lord was usually summoned to one of the underground interview chambers to confer with Palpatine in private. Pton was excited at the prospect of being on this meeting.   
  
"What do you think of the transmorph, Pton?" Palpatine asked suddenly. "Haven't our people been studying her? Have they given you a report?"   
  
The game for today was going to be Pamper And Agree, the blcnd man thought peevishly. He didn't see why the Emperor had involved himself with the matter in the first place. Palpatine rarely took an interest in adminstraticn, preferring to leave that in the more capable hands of Lord Vader, the Fleet, arid the planetary and regional Governors. He usually stayed closeted in the subterranean fortress that he spent most of his time designing new defenses for. The Annex had been part of that; at one time Palpatine had insisted that an entire military base be built onto the Old Palace. Over time the installation had turned into an experimental station and only a minimum of troops guarded the half-senile politician. Yes, Pton thought, one had to admire the way that the old bastard had managed to keep himself alive all these years. "In my opinion, your Highness, the alien is well suited to the plan. I plan to give Lord Vader my approval, pending further tests - "  
  
"As though he needs your sanction." Palpatine chuckled, sipping his wine. "The only reason he sent her here was to keep her out of the way, in a safe place, until after he was done with the Aceldama uprising. It was not, as you foolishly suppose, to gain your approval or to give her to your scientists to play with. He would not have wasted the effort with her in the first place unless he thought that she could be adapted to his plan."   
  
As if on cue the doors at the far end of the Hall opened and Darth Vader entered, his robes flowing behind him like a black banner.  
  
His aides trail in his wake like - like the comets of a rogue star, Pton thought admiringly. He perceived that the Sith Lord did not seem to be dwarfed by the gargantuan proportions of the architecture; on the contrary, Vader dominated the surroundings with his powerful presence.  
  
"Ah, Vader," purred the Emperor when the Dark Lord had come within earshot. "Good to have you back among us. We see you so seldom these days. I congratulate you on your latest exploit, although I gather you dealt a bit harshly with the Rebel prisoners? Not that I am criticizing your technique, but was it really necessary, do you think, to have all three hundred of them killed?"  
  
Pton had heard that Palpatine was the only person who addressed Lord Vader with such flippancy but this was the first time that he had been witness to it. He waited for Lord Vader's response with an ever-so-faint smile.  
  
"Public executions have proved to be useful tools in the past, Your Highness," Vader replied smoothly.  
  
Pton detected a subtle tone of threat in the words and a shiver of awe went through him. Lord Vader was so commanding in person; the reports about him did not do him justice.  
  
"Yes,' Palpatine countered, taking another swallow of Thextelys, "but keep in mind that more often than not the executioner is damned and the victim deified. I'm sure that you can recall one or two instances where that has happened?" He smiled tightly and stared at Vader for a moment. "Ah well, enough of that. No use dwelling on the errors of the past, we must look to the future, Speaking of which, tell me more about this strange woman that you sent us from Aceldama."  
  
Pton decided to take advantage of the break in the conversation to read the report that he had prepared. "I have summarized the test results and I feel that you will find them most enlightening," he said as he pulled a tiny black notebook from his breastpocket. Half turning to Vader ( the Dark Lord was who he had worked up the report for ) Pton coughed delicately and began.  
  
"There are virtually dozens of minor metabolic differences that need not concern us here. The major effects of her mutation are most readily apparent in her quasi-telepathicempathic tendencies and the psychokinetic control over her pigmentation and facial structure which you observed on Aceldama. Although the former shows up on standard psionic-psychological indices, we have been unable to study the transmorphic mechanism, as she has not exhibited that process either under chemical or alpha- suggestion methods. We hypothesize that the alien enters a trance-like consciousness in which theta state she is able to mimic and/or assimilate the electro-chemical patterns of another mind either temporarily or permanently. This causes her to take on the psychological and physiological character- istics of the personality involved."  
  
"What you are trying to say in your usual succinct manner, Pton, is that you have not explained anything that Vader did not discover in his initial interview with her." Palpatine said coldly.   
  
Pton seethed. Unfortunately, what the Emperor was saying was true; but had it been necessary to put it so bluntly in front of Lord Vader?  
  
"That is your entire report?" Palpatine asked politely.  
  
Pton answered tersely, "Of course, what I have presented is only the briefest overview. There are pages and pages of details - "  
  
"I see." Palpatine shifted slightly in his chair. The suns had risen in the sky, and shafts of light shot through his hologram, making him look like a phantom imprisoned in a cage with bars of shadow. "Vader, I must say that I find the proposal elegant in its simplicity. By replacing Leia Organa with your alien girl, and undermining the Alliance from within, you will eliminate the problem that often arises whenever you order a massacre. Rather than giving the insurgents a new Imperial outrage with which to recruit new followers, you will destroy their credulity." He reached out of the range of his monitor to refill his goblet.  
  
"However, I have been turning over the idea in my mind and there seem to be three areas where uncertainty enters the plan.  
  
"First, you must insure that the transmorph cooperates fully with us - but, of course, I assume that you will see to that yourself." Palpatine smiled thinly. "Second, you of course know Organa's whereabouts even at this moment and so will be able to affect the switch effortlessly."  
  
"My strategists," Pton broke in petulantly, at last finding an area where he could salvage his deflated self-respect, "have hypothesized several events which the ex-Senator might be expected to attend. We will hold the alien until we have captured Organa. My staff feels that we will be able to force the alien's compliance with a combination of drugs and hypnopediac conditioning." He added lamely, "As soon as we understand her physiology more thoroughly."  
  
"Of course." Palpatine seened to be hiding his smirk behind the goblet as he took a long pull of Thextelys. "Now, for the third and, possibly most important, point. Even though the Rebel organization is small, it must be true that Organa is not their leader in a complete sense. I have always felt that the woman functions as a sort of spiritual figurehead more than anything else. In any case, if she becomes unreliable I am sure that they will shift their loyalty to another." He paused. "I have heard rumours that Tan Skywalker's son is involved with them and that General Kenobi spent time with the boy before his death - "  
  
"It is unlikely that Obi-wan accomplished anything in so brief a time," Vader stated firmly. "Jedi training took years and without it Skywalker cannot possibly comprehend the full scope of the Force."  
  
"As I thought. Then you admit the rumours about Skywalker are true?" Palpatine said. As Vader made no reply he nodded. "Very good. I have no further objections. You are dismissed, Vader. I wish to be kept informed of your progress."  
  
Pton noticed that the Emperor watched Vader thoughtfully as he stalked out of the Hall.  
  
"Your Majesty," he began hesitantly.  
  
"The woman from GMN is coming today to begin her research, Pton. I want you to see to it that she has every liberty. Allow her into the archives if she feels that there might be useful information there." He fixed Pton with a determined glare. "In fact, broach the subject of an interview to her? I may be able to give her a true perspective on Carolyn; after all, just because she's been gone for twenty-five years doesn't mean that I've forgotten her ..."  
  
Yes, Pton thought, I was right. Today is going to be especially trying.  


.

  
There were two ways of fighting them, Adria had discovered. Active and passive. Active resistance didn't work very well when your captors outweighed, outnumbered and overreached you. She had also learned that some of her guards liked it when she screamed: so she disciplined herself not to react.  
  
She hung limp, dead weight, everyday while they hoisted her into the chair, strapped her in; gritted her teeth when they jabbed the needles into her arm. While in the laboratories, she locked her jaw and stared straight ahead while they crowded cold machines next to her that hummed and snapped her muscles into spasms of cramp. She willed herself to withdraw from the pain, shutting them out until she was able to feel nothing other than a cool detachment at what they were doing to her body.  
  
And inside, all the time, there was hate, and hate gave her strength. Watching the doctors moving around her - she called the two she saw most Dr. Tall and Dr. Bald - she fantasized that she could morph into a huge multi-armed monster that would rise out of the chair and crush them all. Hate sharpened her perceptions and she began to take in every tiny detail, every sentence, every movement and nuance. She would find out what they wanted from her, why they were torturing her, and she would not give it to them.  
  
It had been about two weeks. She sat in her cell one morning, shivering, feeling certain that at any minute Vader would come in and do something horrible to her.  
  
But when the door opened, it was only Tall and Bald with her guards. As they wheeled her down the corridors of the Annex she strained her ears to hear what the two medicos were saying as they walked behind her.  
  
" -- asked him to come here after he was done on Aceldama," That was Bald.  
  
Tall said, "How long's he here?"  
  
Bald said something that Adria couldn't catch.  
  
Tall said, "Can't wait. He scares the shit out of me."  
  
Bald said, "I have a feeling that he's going to pop into the observation booth sometime."  
  
The conversation made no sense to Adria until later in the day. There was a lull in the testing, and some of the medtechs were bringing in a machine that she had never seen before when she started to feel the coldness again. He's here! she screamed in her mind, and started struggling in the chair, trying to break free. One of the medtechs shouted, and Bald ran into the room. He held her down and as he did she seeped into his mind on instinct, as though she were trying to hid her persona.  
  
Pton the stupid if we could give her some injection we wouldn't have this problem our hands are tied and he keeps demanding results maybe Vader will give us permission I'm so sick of hearing how delicate she is and how we must take care not to bruise her r'd like to bruise her right where it counts never had an alien before it might be fun she's a real fighter healthier than she looks and probably still a virgin better not think that way if she's damaged they won't be able to use her that's what Pton's orders say   
  
And Adria calmed, and withdrew from Bald's mind, because she had just come up with a wonderful idea.  


.

  
Vizier-General Pton watched prisoner 78-12, the transmorph, on his monitor and a pout curved his features. This alien has caused me more trouble.  
  
The medico standing in front of his desk interposed, "I think it safe to say that this reaction is normal. Anyone confined to MaxSec for two weeks would be prone to claustrophobic neurasthenia, and with her delicate physiology - "  
  
Pton nodded impatiently. 78-12 did look dreadful. Her skin was sallow, her eyes glassy and unfocused, her face emaciated. Thank the Maker that Lord Vader had left this morning without finding out about this. Fton hoped that they would not capture Organa until this problem had been taken care of: it was his responsibility, ultimately, that the alien be kept in perfect health, ready at any moment to be used for Lord Vader's plan. "Why wasn't this caught sooner?" he snapped.  
  
"As you know," the medico explained, " we have no idea what optimal readings are for her. She had exhibited extreme apathy since her arrival here. We assumed that the listlessness was normal for her. When her condition started to become more serious a few hours ago, we became alarmed. That is when I requested to see you, sir." The medico's bald head was shiny with perspiration.  
  
"Oh, all right," Pton said as he switched off the monitor. "What is your recommendation?"  
  
The medico looked down at the file spread out on the Vizier-General's desk and pushed a few papers around nervously. "As we are restricted in the use of biogenic agents, we - myself and my staff - have concluded that the only appropriate treatment would be," he hesitated, waved a hand, sheepishly, "Fresh air, sunshine and exercise, if possible."  
  
"Do you mean to tell me," Pton pointed a long-nailed hand in the direction of the Annex, "That with a million and a half gigacredits worth of equipment, personnel, and the most sophisticated facilities in this section of the Galaxy all you can suggest is fresh air?" He shook his sleek blond head disdainfully. "You are dismissed."  
  
After the medico had left Pton leaned hack in his chair, steepling his precisely manicured fingers under his chin. Lord Vader would be absolutely furious if anything happened to the alien, that he knew. Pursing his lips, he signalled the head of Security to come to his office.  
  
"Sir?" Colonel Elliman entered respectfully, his bland expression not quite concealing the antipathy he felt for Pton.  
  
"Isn't there an enclosed outdoor balcony between the spires at the northeast corner of the palace?"  
  
If Elliman was surprised to be asked such an unusual question he kept the reaction hidden. "Yes sir. It is located between the north and northeast towers. It is accessible by an elevator which has been out of service for years."  
  
"Is the location - guardable?"  
  
"Undoubtedly. The elevator would provide the only egress. There is a one hundred and fifty metre drop to the ground."  
  
"Colonel, see to it personally that the elevator mechanism is repaired. When that is accomplished arrange for 78-12 to be taken there daily under adequate escort and given relative physical freedom until the evening shift comes on. Is that clear?"   
  
"Certainly sir. I have a question, sir."  
  
"Yes?" The soldier's obsequiousness irritated Pton.  
  
"In the past I have been required to clear alterations in normal security procedure that involve Class AA prisoners with Lord Vader. Am I to wait until he returns to Imperia for clearance?"  
  
Arching his eyebrows, the Vizier-Governor replied haughtily, "During Lord Vader's absence I am your superior. You are to obey my orders, soldier, when I give them and without hesitation."  
  
"Yes sir."   
  
Even though the corridors of the Annex were blandly uniform in appearance, Adria knew after the first few turns that the guards were not taking her to the laboratories that morning. Tensely, she held onto the "sickAdriapattern" and watched as they approached a sentry-post. One of the soldiers presented a small blue card to the man in the booth and initialled a clipboard; then they wheeled her around a corner. In front of them was a thick metal door that slid open to admit them to a small hallway with another, similiar door at the end. They passed through that door, and several like it, until the last door revealed a scene that was completely unexpected.  
  
In the Annex, the plasteel halls had been glaring, sterile, lit by Luminex panels; the air dry and cool. But here, in front of her, cinnamon-coloured satiny stone slipped past on either side, antique sconces set high in thu walls lit the floor with a flickering patchwork, and the warm damp air smelled of earth and rain. At the end of the long hallway they turned left and came to a meekly inconspicuous stone door; the trooper placed his blue pass into a new-looking metal slot, and the stone door opened, revealing an ornate metal lift-cage. The soldier with the pass and one of the younger troopers entered with her chair. At the top, a shiny metal door swung aside and they were on the balcony.  
  
It was long and narrow, closed in at each end by obelisk-like spires that seemed to stretch high enough to impale passing clouds. A waist-high balustrade was decorated with pitted, weather- stained gargoyles and grotesqueries: beyond, a town was scattered over the hills like gemstones on green velvet.  
  
While the younger soldier wheeled her to one end his partner took out his comlink.  
  
"Michaels reporting in," he said lazily. "Prisoner has been conveyed to section North 416. Private Ebblsyr accompanying." He clipped the comlink to his belt, settled on a stone bench and cradled his blaster in his lap.  
  
Adria was watching the young soldier out of the corner of her eye. He had opened one of the compartments on his belt and removed a long narrow tube that he was fitting on the end of his blaster. It looked to her like a silencer, and she swallowed convulsively. It hadn't occured to her that if she was no longer useful to them they would kill her - she had hoped that if they thought she was sick they would think her "damaged" and let her go.  
  
Ebblsyr walked casually dcwn to the end of the balcony and leaned on the railing next to Michaels, hiding the blaster with his body. He stared at Adria over the top of Michaels head and slowly raised one finger to his lips, signalling her to be quiet.  
  
What was going on?  
  
Ebblsyr raised his blaster, aimed it at Michaels head, and fired point blank. There was hardly any sound; the side of Michaels' head that faced her exploded out with a dull pop and his face crumpled. The sight of the arc of blood that the pulped head made on the wall behind it as the body slumped over froze any sound that she might have wanted to make.  
  
The younger soldier ran over to her and whispered hurriedly as he started to unfasten the straps on her wheelchair. "Just keep quiet and listen. We can't waste any time. Ny name is Imar. I'm from the Rebel Alliance - you've heard of us, I'm sure. I don't know why you're being held here, but you've got a ridiculously high security rating for someone who's not a political prisoner or a captured Rebellion spy. There's a very tiny rumour circulating around here that you're part of a new plan of Vader's, a sort of secret weapon that could do a lot of damage to the Alliance. We're - I'm - going to help you get out of here." He loosed the last of the restrainers and as she stood, dazedly, he wheeled the chair over so that it stood where he had been when he shot Michaels.  
  
"I don't - " she started to say.  
  
"Don't interrupt." He came back over to her, handed her a coil of rope from his belt. "Can you climb down the wall or will I have to lower you?" he asked.  
  
"I can - I've climbed at home, on the Kerea'a Plateau, and -"  
  
"Good, that's going to make it easier to cover my tracks." He reached inside his chestplate and pulled out a lightweight hooded cloak that looked as though it had seen better days. "This should be all the disguise you need, you'll blend right in, and there's one hundred credits in the pocket. Well, go ahead, tie the rope around one of those gargoyle heads. Hurry up."  
  
Her fingers shook as she wrapped the line tightly around one of the less weatherbeaten stone projections. Imar walked over to Michaels and retrieved the man's blaster from the bench, wiping it on his tunic as he walked back to her. He examined her knots.  
  
"Good. Now, listen carefully. See that fine white line out there between those trees?"  
  
She followed his finger and nodded.  


"Alright. That's a transport that runs into Imperial City, which is way over there." He indicated a faint blur on the horizon far to their right, then his arm swept back to the left. `Now, see that group of black buildings? They used to be the `Cromancy's Headquarters until the Thaumaturge moved to Thessalus. Anyhow, it marks the boundary between Imperial City and its outlaying areas, Cityedge. Got that?"  


"Black buildings. Cityedge," Adria echoed obediantly.  
  
"Take the transport, get off near those buildings, go into Cityedge and wait until it's dark. Then go to a cantina called the Blue Haven."  
  
 "Blue Haven, after dark," she repeated.  
  
"Inside, if the 'tender is alone, go up to him and say," Imar paused and the muscles in his jaw tightened, "say that Imar Lamb sent you."   
  
"Imar Lamb? What does that mean?"  
  
"Don't worry about it ... it means that you'll be taken off Imperia by Alliance agents. Now, if there are other people in the bar," he continued, "just go in, order a drink or something, start a conversation. After a while say something like, hey, this is a nice place, my friend Imar Lamb told me about it. You don't have to use those exact words, but make sure you say 'Imar Lamb'." -  
  
"Alright."  
  
"Now," he said, his dark eyes drilling into hers. "You have to do something for me." He held out his blaster, the one with the silencer on it, out to her butt foremost. "The Empire doesn't know how much we've infiltrated the Palace, and we can't let them find out. If I'm taken alive, and they suspect me of helping you escape - which they will if I can't produce your dead body - I don't think that I could keep from spilling everything I know. So, what you have to do is to shoot me and make it look like you killed me before I could reach for my blaster -  
  
"No, no, I can't do that." She shrank back from him.  
  
"Look," he said impatiently. "I don't want to die, but I'd rather you shoot me and get it over with than be tortured. Do you know who takes care of suspected Rebel spies? Darth Vader. that's who, and if you know anything about him you'll know why I'd rather be shot now, up here, than face him for even two minutes. And it's not just for me, it's for the Alliance, too, You've got to do it, I can't fake it on my own." Pushing the handle of the blaster into her hand he wrapped her fingers around it. "It'll be quick. I won't feel anything," Taking her by the shoulder, he led her over to the wheelchair and made her sit in it. She tried to avoid looking at Michaels' corpse.  
  
Imar walked to the far end of the balcony. "Airight," he said, with a forced lightness that did not completely cover the tremor in his voice, "Now when I turn around you shoot me."  
  
Tensely, Adria held the blaster with two hands and sighted down the barrel, staring at Imar without really seeing him. He stood for so long that her hands got tired of holding the gun, and just when she was going to put them down Imar whirled and leaped at her. The suddenness of his action startled her, made her squeeze the trigger without thinking. A white beam hit him in the midsection, knocking the blaster out of his hand and slamming him against the balustrade. His eyes rolled up in his head, and Adria gagged as the deathrattle gurgled in his throat.  
  
The silence afterward was overpowering and the desire to get away from death galvanized her into action; she clicked on the safety and dropped the blaster down her tunicfront, stuffed the cloak into her belt so that her hands would be free for climbing. She winced as she saw the flies that had already covered the bodes with a moving black carpet; the sight made her remember a pattern that she had picked up somewhere of a slight, darkhaired man. As she called him up in her mind his bright green eyes seemed to say to her Run! Go! Now! Swinging over the edge of the railing Adria started to morph.  
  
She lost her footing about five metres from the ground and fell, the line sliding through her hands like acid, burning the flesh. Landing otherwise uninjured, she leaned against the wall for a second, waiting for the pain in her hands to subside, then took the cloak and swirled it around her shoulders, moving stealthily towards the transport that Imar had pointed out.   
  
Trying not to think of the death she had just caused the only thing that came into her mind was Thank the Maker I'm so flat-chested. Otherwise I'd never get away with crossmorphing.  
  
After getting off the transport, Adria followed the general direction of the crowd westward into Cityedge. It was very different than the little she had seen of Aceldama, not glitter and sparkle and clean tall buildings but greys and browns and dirty yellows, strcng smells distilled by the hot early morning suns, the unfamiliar sounds of dozens of unknown languages mised in with snatches of Universal Galactic. Everywhere was ugliness and violence and Adria kept thinking of the flies crawling over the hole in Michaels' head. She glimpsed two women circling each other with knives while a little boy stood nearby, picked his nose and bawled. Further on she came to the merchant's section, where pets of all types dashed between hawker's stalls and stole scraps that the beggars fought them for. She had to get inside, sit down, get away from this for awhile.   
  
A dark entranceway a few doors down beckoned her with sinuous stringed melody and she entered. Inside, the room seemed crowded with people, but as she pushed through the crowd she saw that there was a vacant seat at the back, at a table with two women. They eyed her with interest as she wormed her way through the crowd and slipped into the chair. Both were past eighty, but their seamed, peachfuzz faces were heavily made up. One, tall and bony, wore a faded brown dress decorated haphazardly with odd scraps of lace; she smiled coyly at Adria. The other, butterball round, was squeezed into a green gown that matched the lacquered wig she wore. They stank like dead c'gwams, the odor undisguised by the gaggingly floral perfume they had on.   
  
The woman in brown spoke. "I'm Lorelei and here's my sister Gigilee. You look lonely, young man, and you're far too handsome to be lonely." Adria considered moving away, but she knew there were no other open seats; and besides these two might know where the Blue Haven was. And after all, crosspatterning might be fun: she had never masqueraded as a man before.   
  
Lorelel misunderstood Adria's silence. "You want a girl? A boy? Or something else? We got connections. We'd hate to see you lonely. We like everyone to be happy, don't we Gi?"   
  
Adria shrugged.  
  
"Buy us a drink?" Gigilee asked in soft drawl, batting her artificial lashes at Adria.  


.

  
"I tell ya, everyone's got ta have some once in a while, ain't it truth?" Lorelei was on her third oubled. "There's no one, no where, that doesn't."   
  
Sex is obviously her favorite suhject, Adria mused wearily.   
  
Gigilee snickered. "Tell him the funny that Boboleen made up."   
  
Lorelei oh'ed and leaned conspiratorily towards Adria. "I'll try to imitate Bo's accent for ya. She says that since Lord Vay-dah don't even stop fighting wahs and such, 'e don't nev-ah take his ah-mah off." She hiccouped "An' 'e keeps it in a draw-ah some where an' hangs it on 'is belt when 'e needs it!" Cackling, Lorelei clutched Adria's shoulder.  
  
Noticing that the funny hadn't gone over as expected Lorelei changed the subject. "You know, you look like my grandson a little. He's got an important job - works in the officers' dining hall at the Emperor's Palace Annex." Beaming with genuine pride, she pursed her lips and nodded firmly. "Mind you, he don't serve food - that's machines' work. He pours the shere and brendis and after dinner suchstuff in the officers' club. Though," and here she rolled her eyes mournfully, "he don't ever think to snitch a nip for his poor old granna. He's a bright boy, keeps his ears open and his mouth shut, if you know what I mean, and he picks up the most interesting gossip. And he was telling me just the last week that the Emperor himself had hired a whore who used to work in a fancy house on Venallia to do some very special job for him. I was telling my friend DorTee just the other day that if it's good enough for the Emperor, it's good enough for us. Right, Gi?"  
  
Gigilee nodded righteously.  
  
Adria asked, "What did they hire the woman to do?"  
  
"Well," Lorelei leaned across the table confidentially and, said in a dramatic whisper, "It's like spy stuff."  
  
"Really?" Adria said.  
  
"Yeah. My granson said that she was a real pretty girl, he says, long silver hair. In fact, " Lorelei chuckled and wiped at her eye with one dirty finger, "He told me that he'd 'a rather ha' her the way she is before she turns into the other woman."  
  
Other woman. That clicked somewhere. They're talking about me. She had never even heard of Venallia but then how many aliens with silver hair that could impersonate other women could there be in the Palace?  
  
"What's wrong with your hair?" Gigilee sounded dangerously sober.  
  
In her agitation she had started to unify back from the black-haired man's pattern, and her hair was probably lightening back to silver. Pulling the hood around her face, Adria mumbled. "Be right back. Don't go away." and threaded her way to the door.  
  
Outside, the sun had climbed higher in the sky and Adria was angry with herself for having spent time in the cantina when she could have been looking for the Blue Haven. After about an hour and conflicting directions from several people, she found the street that it was on, iin a section west of where she had got off the transport. The area was composed mostly of small  
buildings clustered around abandoned warehouses like weeds around a treetrunk. She picked out a smallish grey structure fairly close to the Blue Haven and picked her way down an alley towards it. As she came closer she could see in what bad condition it was in. Cracks marbled the sides, the tall narrow windows had ragged edges where the rock had crumbled, and part of the roof had collapsed. A jumble of bricks were heaped in front of a gaping hole on one side. Adria stepped inside. Dusty industrial equipment lay half buried by mortar-speckled chunks of the roof. Adria fancied that she was in a machines' graveyard and these rusty leviathans were corpses ...  
  
Stop being so morbid, she told herself.  
  
A narrow metal staircase clung to the wall on her right opposite the windows; it joined a catwalk that ran around all four walls. The warehouse's double support pylons intersected the catwalk at regular intervals, forming dark nooks. Adria decided that it might be safer to sleep off the ground in one of them. She ran up the stairs.  
  
Testing with her foot to make sure that she would be the only occupant Adria wrapped her cloak around herself tightly and sat. Her palm was sticky. Holding it in front of her to catch the light that came in through the ruined wall below, she saw a thin smear of blood that bisected the ropeburn. I must have cut my hand on the railing when I ran up here.  
  
After a while, the shadows in front of her eyes seemed to pulse with tiny coloured lights. She yawned. "I will not sleep." she muttered, snuggling back against the rough stone wall.  


.

  
Sunset flooded the balcony with a thick scarlet light. Darth Vader stood over the two corpses, studying the greyish death grimaces as though willing the dead to giwe up their secrets.  
  
A twittering eveningbird interrupted the Sith Lord's furious silence. "On whose authority was the prisoner taken from her cell?" he said, his tone dangerously low and quiet.  
  
The Imperial officer standing near the lift door felt weak. "I was only following Vizier-General Pton's orders, my Lord. He was acting on a report from the medicos - the prisoner had taken ill -"  
  
"Fools!" Vader hissed. He seemed about to say more but didn't as the sound of the lift cage was heard. He waited, arms folded. The sun had set; zephyrs rippled his cloak hesitantly.  
  
The lift reached the top and Pton stepped daintily out onto the balcony, "1 don't see how it could have happened, my Lord," he began, glancing around the balcony as if he hoped to see Adria hiding in a corner. "She was far too ill to have overpowered the guards -"  
  
"You forgot," Vader said savagely "she's a transmorph. She gave the appearence of illness in order to provide herself.vith an opportunity to escape."  
  
"I never thought -"  
  
"She must be found. Assign all non-essential operational personnel. It is likely that she will use her transmorphic abilities to try and elude us: we will be ready when she makes an error." Vader turned, stepped aboard the life cage. As he did so, he said without turning around as the cage started to descend, "I might be inclined to forget your incompetency in this matter if the transmorph is recovered."  
  
Vizier-General Pton shivered and looked out at the hazy pink halo of Cityedge and the brighter glow of Imperial City beyond that mocked him in the dusk.  
  


To be continued ...

**Author's Note:**

> **Authors Notes, Or How I came to write this story**
> 
>  
> 
> In 1977, I began attending Mundelein College in Chicago, pursuing a degree in Arts Administration (bookstore or theater management). In the summer of 1978, I took a class called "Business Communication" from Susan Zemelman, a wonderful teacher. She used Peter Elbow's book _Writing without teachers_ which taught a technique called "freewriting" - basically, stream of consciousness. Elbow's theory is that most writer's block is caused by a person trying to write and edit at the same time: ultimately, you don't want to put anything down unless it's perfect - and so frequently you get to the point where you can't put anything down at all. Elbow, on the other hand (is that a pun?) says, "Just tell yourself, that you can always edit later." He also says that when you can't think of anything to write, write anything - lists of colors, birds, cities, babble about how you can't write, whatever.
> 
> Now, I had been blocked as a creative writer since high school. I'd written stories and poems beginning in 2nd grade, but a number of things had me blocked by the time I was 12 or so. I wrote little bits in high school, but not much. So here I was, 20 years old, in this class and suddenly a story started flowing out on the paper. A Star Wars story.
> 
> Now, note that, in 1978, what I will always think of as the "first" movie was all that was out. ("Empire" was still a few years away). I had seen the first movie with some Star Trek fen friends (actually we sat through it a dozen times in a row one day - theaters didn't used to throw you out), and thought it was great. Anyhow, a story unfolded in my class notebook. I went home - fortunately it was a later afternoon or evening class- and I continued to write. And write. And write. 24 or so hours of non-stop typing on my electric typewriter (until my apartment neighbors started pounding on the walls) and then two more hours of hand writing to complete the first draft of the story. If I recall correctly, 110 double-spaced pages.
> 
> At that preinternet time (when ARPANET had not yet begat www.) fanfic was published in photocopied or mimeographed magazines and sold at conventions. Many 'zines were quarterly, and scraped by on subscriptions. Through a non-credit class at the library I was lucky enough to hook up with Judi Hendricks and Paula Block. Judi published a well-thought of 'zine called "Pegasus" awhich regularly offered work from some of the best writers and artists in the Midwest. "Darktamer" appeared in what I think was the third issue, which was a whopping 150 pages. (Which was a lot. In those pre-DTP days, the pages were composed by typing the story on landscape orientation letter-sized sheets, which were then pasted up and then reduced. Verrrry long lines of tiny type. NOT revision friendly. Those of you who are aware of what a revision junkie I am ought to be grinning by now.)
> 
> Anyhow, "Darktamer" broke the block. I began to write more and more - fanfiction and other things - and finally applied for and won a writing scholarship (which I held for two more years). Along with my management classes I began taking writing classes, and I finally changed my major to English in my senior year, added a fifth year of college to get in all the core English courses I was missing.
> 
> So that's where this story fits in my life. I had no idea where my copy of it was for years, but having finally found it I've decided to turn it electronic for archival purposes and perhaps your entertainment.
> 
> I'm resisting the temptation to edit anything other than typos - so this story will be presented in all it's oddly punctuated, purple-prose festooned, Joycean concatenationed, awkwardly expositing, Oedipal, clunky-dialected glory. Oh and don't forget the quirky spelling.
> 
> Don't bother to chastise me for Adria being Mary Sueish - I know she is, although I feel she's a bit better than the usual paragon you want to shred.
> 
> And as I said up front, reviewers should also keep in mind that this fic was written long before we knew that Luke and Leia -and Vader, at that - were all related, or that Vader had a decent streak, before we'd seen the Emperor or Darth Vader's face.


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